War is an ugly thing
by WaWaMakesYouHealthy
Summary: Do you ever think about the consequences of your action? Who they may affect? Rarely do we ever. We make small Mistakes that cost us big. I do not own GoW. Perspective will change in later chapters. Written by past experiences and interactions.


"The selfish act of a few outweigh the needs of many."

It's only 0500, you're all waking up, packing your tents into your rucksack. You hear a piercing, whistling sound, "incoming!" Someone would yell. You drop to the ground, your gloved hands covering the only exposed area - your neck.

You peer up as a loud bang is heard, the dark sky is illuminated into a bright white. Small particles that were engulfed in flame began showering down - the drums of war had begun.

OoO

It's when you're alone, doing nothing, just sitting in your bunk, for the first time in 20 hours, you can let your mind wander. You can think for yourself; not have someone think for you. You can be an individual, even if it's only for a little while, you can be your old self.

When your mind finally wanders, you think about whey you left behind, your family, your friends, your past, and you have your heart plunge into your hungry stomach. You begin to regret a lot of mistakes you've ever made. Your emotions start to resurface, then you do your best to lock it up, and keep your military bearing.

You're no longer a civilian, you're a soldier.. and Soldiers aren't supposed to cry.

OoO

You're awake for 48 hours, you haven't talked to yohr family in a month, then finally, you get a phone call - for 30 minutes.

You tell yourself you won't cry, but as soon as you hear their voice, you remember how much you took them for granted, how many bad choices you made that affected them. It hits you full force. You can't help but apologize,trying to hold back your emotions, but your voice waivers.

"Why are you crying?" They ask.

You didn't know how to answer, "I'm so sorry.."

Time was ticking down as a comforting silence was elapsing. You say, "I love you," they ask when you're going to call again. You swallow that lump in your throat and whisper hoarsely, "I don't know. "

OoO

You're doing mail call, you're all surrounding your sergeants, waiting anxiously for your name; laughing as people did 20 push-ups per letter; it was tradition, and some received more than 7 letters.

The mail pile was at the last handful, people already opening and reading their letters. The last one gets called out, it wasn't your name. A female, however, stepped up to retrieve her innocent looking, white envelope. She always resembled a puppy who's been beat down one too many times.

You kicked at small pebbles in the ground, disappointed you got nothing. All of a sudden though, the lost puppy takes off towards our barracks, her letter forgotten on the asphalt-like ground.

The letter was an obituary. Her grandfather had passed while we were all far from home. Not their to receive our family comforts.

You chase her to the rooms. You hear crying in the bathroom and enter. "I'm out here when you're ready," your voice is soft. Almost understanding.

"Okay. ." Her meek reply came. She steps out minutes later, her eyes red and puffy.

You ask if she needs a hug, she responds in a nod. You open your arms and she walks into the hug, "let it out," you say softly. She cried on your shoulders. You then realize a battle buddy is a 24/7 job.

OoO

They say the person to your left and right are your brothers and sisters in arms - I never believed it until today.

A female soldier was to your right. You and her never liked each other. Always yelled and argued. That is until one leader had given us great advice. You two started to get along and become friends, having even-toned conversations.

A male soldier sat to your left, his Hispanic accent thick - we hardly ever interacted.

It was another long day, one that was quickly turning into a long night. We almost hit the 24 hour mark where we were awake. The light summer breeze was lulling us to sleep.

The two on your sides rested their head on your shoulders. They quickly fell into the comforting embrace of sleep.

You prop your knees up to get cozy and rested your head on the wall behind you.

The music you drowned out were the sounds of nature. Crickets calling, wolves howling, and fireflies buzzing.

Regardless how much we fought or how little we talked, we were there for each other.

OoO

You're sitting down on your butt, elbows resting on your knees; a blurry image enters your mind, you do your best to push it aside, and try not to think of how your mother, but you can barely even picture her face. Someone you've known all your life disappears in a few short months.

You spend so much time thinking about the task ahead of you that your civilian life and memories, they just... begin to fade away, and by the time you realize they're fading, they're almost out of reach, your fingertips barely brushing the memories.

Maybe that's the breaking down part - The scary part? You don't know when it hits you, and it doesn't hurt.

OoO

You hear gunshot in the distance, loud screams following. You follow the noise, your squad behind you, carrying their weapons at the low ready. You stppr at a building. You count down from 3, then push in, being enveloped in darkness. You do your best to navigate. You hear desperate cries for help and change your path of direction to follow them. 3 soldiers are wounded on the ground in a puddle of their own blood.

You're a medic. First thing you do is to get one of the casualties. The other medics head to the other two.

Your casualty has an evisceration, laceration on his leg, and gunshot wound on his arm. You worry about the leg first, and quickly tourniquet as high on his leg you can go, and make it blood-stopping tight.

Everyone's screaming, your radio operator is yelling at you, trying to get a medivac called as quickly as possible, as time had become a game of chess between life and death.

"Laceration, evisceration, gunshot wound, urgent surgical!" You yell over the chaos.

You dig around for your combat gauze, your eyes slightly adjusting to the dark - you pull out your gauze, placing the white sterile, cushioned part on the intestines and wrap around the stomach, going bottom first to give the intestines a cushion. You quickly are out of gauze. "I need more wrap!" You call out into the dark chaos. A quick reacted member hands you one; you use it to quickly finish the wrapping.

You move to the gunshot wound, pulling out a pressure bandage, abs wrap it, with the sterile white covering the hole - you make sure it's tight, "litter team 1, ready!" You yell, the other medics are rushing to do an efficient job in little time.

" Litter team 2, ready!" and a few minutes after that, the third litter tan sounded off, and on your command, you had all litter teams two man carry the causality.

You kicked open an exit door, the bright light blinding you for a second. Your squad moves into a 360 degree security, the middle carried the casualties and medics

You recheck your bandages and tourniquet; they're good, especially since they're done in the dark.

The chopper is in sight, the flare a squad member used when you stepped out made it easier to find you. As soon as the chopper landed, you load the casualties, and then follow with the other medics, hopping in.

You're all covered in blood. Your boots, uniform, and hands are covered in it. It'd range awhile to clean out, but it was worth it - you saved a life. Another soldier can live another day to see his family.

OoO

It's early in the morning, you're at the mortuary, cleaning. The scheduled remains comes through the door, earlier than expected. You drop all that you were doing.

The human remains pouch that had a small layer of water droplets, was laid atop a gurney for easier transportation. You soak up the info being bounced, "29, male, I.E.D."

You first send the remains to check for explosives before photographing the sealed bag. You only break the seal once you took pictures of how you recieved it. Then you popped the seal and opened the black bag gingerly, being met with s remains in melting ice. He had a leg blown off, presumably in the smaller black bag being transported in, recieving the same ginger treatment.

The other leg had an open fracture wound at the patella, the skin barely holding the decaying, muscled leg together. One hand had the layers of skin peeled off, showing all the muscles and tissues underneath the skin. The other hand was mangled with shrapnel wounds, the skin splitting and torn - even the palm of the hand.

The pelvic region had been blown off, leaving an abyss. The muscle and tissues poured out like an everlasting sea.

The face had an eye pushed snuggly into the socket, the eyelid sliding off the face, his nose was bent to the right side, broken, like his jaw, which wad slacked to one side, leaving the mouth open. You noted missing teeth. The lips and jawline torn and bruised.

As you finished taking pictures, and he was wheeled to more stations for fingerprints, x-rays, abs dental, you felt that familiar emotion you as it always did when you do your job - confusion.

Why them? What if they didn't go? Why did he join?

You're too late to ask, you'll never know, you're only filled with more confusion amd questions.

What did he leave behind?

The less you know, the better.

OoO

"They say a hero is someone who leads his soldiers into combat; a true hero is slmeone who fights with them"

As a leader on the battlefield, the hardest thing to do is shown no emotion. You're supposed to be that rock steady-nothing can crush you, type. At least that's how you're portrayed.

The ones following your orders, they're freaking out, panicking, going to you for answers and guidance, or orders.

Once you lose your cool, though, and you start showing fear, so do they, but worse. If an experienced soldier loses it when a firefight happens, the rookies think the worst.

A private who's never seen combat gets killed because his leader couldn't keep them in the right mind to focus on the mission, and you're to blame when a mother gets a folded flag, and looks away as her son is lowered by six. His father looks away, never crying in public, but hell, he cried today. His brother took his spot fighting in the war, and his sister praying to whatever diety she believed in.

You're at his funeral, blaming yourself, not even bothering to hide your tears.

OoO

"Some dream of being a hero, others live it in through nightmares."

There's a picture in your hand, grief in your eyes. You don't want to let your emotions get to you. You open up a drawer and place it neatly inside and then gently close it.

You pick up the Army Times newspaper sitting in your desk. You flip through until you get to a page you want to avoid but always end up looking Roll Call list - a list of soldiers who fell in combat.

Just when you thought every name was a stranger, your eyes rested on a name of a Staff Sergeant. You let lose a sigh, and rubbed your eyes. You pulled out the photo again, it looked more somber.

You find the soldiers younger face in the crowd of those ignorant face that think they could rule the world.

You neatly write KI above his face. You drop the pen and stare at the photo of your very first cycle as a Drill Sergeant. Most of the soldiers had "KIA" over their heads, some had "Chaptered Out," only a few had "AWOL".

You bury your face in your hands, a quiet mutter escapes your lips, "what could have I done better?" You ask everytime you pull the picture out.

You never want to be a Drill Sergeant again.


End file.
